


between a rock and a hard place

by veramendacious



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Sex Shop, Canon Asexual Character, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, canon typical jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27751540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veramendacious/pseuds/veramendacious
Summary: The first time Jon sees the new hire next door, he's boredly slotting batteries into a dildo.Or: the sex shop/landscaping company au that every fandom needs now.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 29
Kudos: 269





	between a rock and a hard place

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Rain and Skylar for encouraging me!

The first time Jon sees the new hire next door, he's boredly slotting batteries into a dildo. His eyes skate over the giggling couple in front of him as he rattles off his spiel - proving the thing works, recommending the proper lubricant, informing them of the store's return policy (namely, don't) - before a flash of movement out the window draws his gaze.

A man is passing by the front of the store, a tall, broad man in a sleeveless shirt that bears the name of the landscaping company two doors down under a smear of sweat and dirt. He is pushing a wobbling wheelbarrow heaped with soil as easily as though he were strolling through a park, his large hands curled steadily over the handles. As Jon watches, caught by the hint of stubble on the man's jaw, the man tosses his head to flick some of his sweat-dark hair off his forehead and scrunches up his face as his glasses threaten to slip down his nose.

He's in Jon's range of vision for maybe four full seconds. It's enough to distract him entirely. The man passes out of sight and the dildo Jon's still holding slips from his fingers, landing right on the on switch and coming to life against the glass countertop with a horrendous buzzing. The customers titter at him and he tries very hard not to glare as he rushes through the rest of the transaction, quite forgetting to try to upsell them on water-based lube.

When they finally leave, Jon is left alone with his thoughts and hundreds of sex toys. He sighs.

Sweaty and dirty is  _ not _ Jon's type. Physical activity of any sort is quite outside of Jon's sphere, not something he looks for in himself or in his partners. It's messy, it's strenuous, and it's altogether pointless to Jon in general. Georgie had attempted to get him out on a light jog with her a couple times; she'd ended up taking pity on him and giving up when he'd collapsed wheezing on her kitchen floor. No, physical exertion is emphatically  _ not Jon's thing _ .

Strange then, that Jon is thinking about the sheen of the man's skin under the dirt and dust smudged up his forearms.

Not to mention that everything else about him, from his soft, strong arms to his pleasant face furrowed in concentration, is most definitely Jon's type. He groans, staring through the counter at a display of cock rings. Then, for no reason other than it definitely being time to wipe down the glass windows and doors, nevermind that Jon has never once bothered to clean them before, he collects a cloth and cleaner spray and approaches the front of the store, holding the bottle up in front of him like the excuse it is.

He won't  _ look _ for the man, he tells himself. That would be weird. He'll just...clean the windows, and if he  _ happens _ to see him again, well. Heart pounding, Jon leans over the window display of erotica to get at the glass and peers up and down the sidewalk outside.

No one.

He ducks his head and wipes furiously at the window, wondering when it had actually been cleaned last. It's filthy. He turns to shake the rag out, cursing at the grime that tumbles to the floor that he'll have to vacuum later, and when he turns back to the window the man is walking back down the sidewalk. Jon freezes, cloth pressed to the glass.

The wheelbarrow is empty now, and the man is pushing it along almost jauntily this time. He passes just on the other side of the window, so close that Jon can see the spray of freckles cascading over his shoulders, the smudge of dirt streaking up his neck, the clear blue of his eyes as he turns his head and meets Jon's gaze.

He stumbles a bit, a blotchy flush creeping over his face as his eyes flicker over the storefront and Jon, standing there unable to think of a single thing to do. Jon just stares as the man takes a final wide-eyed look at him before hurrying past the shop, shoulders tense. The back of his neck is red as Jon watches him until he's out of sight. The tag of his shirt is sticking out.

He stares at the cloth in his hand before slowly looking around himself, imagining what the man must have seen: Jon, being weird, staring at a stranger from inside a sex shop surrounded by erotic novels and various fetish accoutrements. He thinks for a moment about quitting. He thinks for another moment about leaving the country.

Instead, he flees to the safety of the back room before the man can pass by again and tries to calm his fluttering heart.

\--

Through careful, surreptitious observation, Jon learns a surprising amount about the man over the next couple weeks. He tells himself it's not creepy each time he scans the sidewalk outside when he has to pass the window. He's just curious. He'd be curious about any new face that showed up to this hellish little shopping center. Never mind, he thinks, that he hadn't bothered to notice a complete turnover in management at the crematorium across the street. Never mind that he barely notices a new hire at his own place of work.

His work is so mind-numbing that it's easy to let his thoughts drift to the man. He mechanically sorts through a box of edible underwear and runs over the scraps of information he's been able to collect.

The sleeveless shirt appears to have been a one-off, Jon notes with a small pang of disappointment. The man's freckled arms have been covered in a series of increasingly dirty company shirts; in general he seems to be coated in a permanent layer of dust and dirt, his heavy workboots sometimes leaving a trail of muddy prints on the sidewalk behind for Jon to follow, proof that he exists outside of Jon's gaze. 

They seem to have fairly similar schedules, often arriving to work within a half hour of each other. On one memorable occasion Jon had arrived long before the store had opened and was trying in vain to nap in his car when the man had pulled into the lot in the world's shittiest Volvo, forcing Jon to slink down in his seat until just the top of his head was visible to someone looking hard. He'd peered out the window at the dented car sputtering to a relieved halt a few spaces down, watching as the man slammed the car door a few times before it stuck. Somehow there had already been a streak of dirt clinging to his trouser leg. Jon had dashed to the safety of the sex shop the second he was out of sight.

Sometimes the man will pass by the front window. Jon notices every time, no matter what task he's occupied with. It's terribly distracting, but if he's going to insist on carrying bags of soil that probably weigh as much as Jon comfortably slung over a shoulder, or haul a parade of cinder blocks by one by one with apparent ease - well. Jon simply finds these brief seconds much more interesting than whatever fetish his latest customer is trying to work through.

It's a shockingly nice day out when Jon finally learns the man's name, though a steady stream of idiotic customers and a shipment of exploded lube have left Jon in a foul mood. When he's finally released to his lunch break, he stalks outside, determined to wring out every second of this half hour. He considers escaping to his car to eat, locking himself away to recharge, but he hesitates when the sun hits his face. The breeze playing through his hair is nice, he admits, and instead of going to his car he instead crosses to the far back corner of the lot, past the dumpsters, to the low wall surrounding the electrical generators. He likes sitting back here; even locked in his car he'd still have to see the customers giggling as they peek into the shop. Here, no one can see him.

No one, that is, except the man Jon's been watching, sitting on the ground tucked behind the wall with half a sandwich and his earbuds in. He astonishes hard when he sees Jon round the corner, yanking the headphones out of his ears and looking up at him with wide eyes.

Jon is already backpedaling, holding his lunch bag in front of him like an explanation or a shield. Somehow, even after watching the man for two weeks, it hasn't actually occurred to Jon that he might come face to face with him. "I-I'm sorry," he stammers out at the same time the man overcomes his surprise.

"Oh gosh, sorry, I didn't know - "

" - I didn't know anyone would be here - "

" - this was your break spot, I'll - "

" - I can go somewhere else - "

" - just go somewhere else - "

They break off, staring wide-eyed at each other. Jon is suddenly aware of a heat in his face that has nothing to do with the warmth of the day, of his racing heart and sweating palms. He tries to arrange his expression into… something. He's not sure what. 

The man lets out a chuckle then, just the barest huff of laughter, and Jon swallows hard. "Um," he says, a nervous smile on his lips. "Look, my break's just about over. You can - why don't you sit and I'll be out of your hair in a sec."

Jon very seriously thinks about walking away. He is in no way prepared to actively participate in a conversation right now, is sure to be a right bastard, but… he really doesn't have the energy to walk all the way back across the lot. And the man's hair is glinting softly in the sunlight. He nods slowly and picks his way to a spot on the ground a respectable distance from the man, sinking down against the wall and leaning his head back against it with a sigh.

"Retail?" The man sounds sympathetic.

Jon groans and fights down his instinctive stab of annoyance, focuses instead on his acute awareness of the space between their bodies. "Quite," he says, then drags his lunch bag closer to see what he'd packed in his exhausted haze earlier this morning.

It's pitiful. He pulls out an apple that's more bruise than skin and a pack of dry ramen. He sighs again.

He can feel the man eyeing him.

"Not going to cook that?" he says.

Jon makes some sort of noise. "It's fine." He starts crunching up the ramen in its pouch with sharp, pointed movements. 

"Right, okay," the man says agreeably, then, "No drink?"

Jon is abruptly frustrated. "It's  _ fine _ ," he grits out. The man falls silent for a moment, and Jon clenches his teeth around the hot slide of shame in the back of his throat.

"Okay," he says again, and his voice is softer now, hesitant. "It's just that they give us free waters and I always grab an extra just in case." There's a rustle, but Jon doesn't look up from the fascinating task of pulverizing his dry ramen noodles, even as the man stands up. "I'll leave it here if you want it.''

Christ. He's  _ nice _ , too. Jon sees him set a plastic water bottle on top of the half wall out of the corner of his eye and grinds his teeth. He can't let him go like this. Contrary to popular belief, Jon  _ is _ aware when he's being an arse. Most of the time. "Wait," he calls out at the last possible second, catching the man just before he rounds the wall. 

"I'm… sorry," he mutters, glancing up at the man once and then swiftly looking away at his cautious expression. "Retail.'' It's a weak excuse, he knows, but it's all he has. He can only hope the other man understands.

He seems to, from the hesitant smile that crosses his face. "No worries," he says, then pauses as though deciding whether or not to say anything else. "Enjoy your break," he finally seems to settle on, then turns to leave again.

"What's your name?" Jon blurts out.

He seems surprised. "Oh! I'm, uh. Martin."

"Martin," Jon repeats. He likes the way it sounds coming out of his mouth. "I'm Jon."

Martin's hesitant, nervous smile widens into something genuine. His eyes crinkle. There's the tiniest gap between his front teeth. Jon can't breathe. "Nice to meet you, Jon," he says. "See you around sometime."

And then he's gone, striding back across the lot. Jon peers overs the wall to watch him go, clutching the water bottle to his chest.

\--

The next day he pauses on his way to his car for his break, squinting over at the corner wall. There's no reason why he  _ shouldn't _ go over there, Jon thinks. Martin probably isn't even there. It's  _ better _ if he isn't there, maybe Jon can have a relaxing half hour to himself where he won't be distracted by -

"Oh, Jon!"

Martin stares up at him with that same wide-eyed startled expression. It causes a little wrinkle to form right between his anxious eyebrows, and Jon heroically does not think about reaching out to smooth it away.

"I'm sorry for intruding again," he says stiffly, but Martin is already gesturing at him to sit, needlessly rearranging a couple empty tupperware containers next to a battered cloth lunchbox. Jon spots a couple pins affixed to the outside of it before Martin tucks the bag out of sight, recognizes the blue and white and pink flag with a surge of warmth. He eases himself to the ground a healthy distance away and tips out his own paper lunch bag. He catches Martin eyeing his meal with open interest and scowls as he sets out the makings of a real lunch, pointedly setting a warm can of soda in front of himself. Martin doesn't need to know that Jon had set his alarm fifteen minutes early to make sure he had time to put together a proper lunch today. No reason for it, he'd just felt like having a real sandwich, that's all. He feels foolish as he makes eye contact with Martin to take a defiant bite.

Martin, to his credit, only looks faintly amused. There's an unopened water bottle standing by his crossed Iegs, Jon notices. The bread sticks in his throat.

"So,'' he says, coughing a bit. "You're in landscaping?"

Martin blinks a little, as though Jon had interrupted his train of thought. "Oh, yeah, I suppose. I mean, it's only my third week but it's fine so far? Not sure I'd call myself a landscaper though, they mostly just have me carrying a bunch of stuff." 

_ I've noticed _ , Jon doesn't say. He makes a little humming sound in response.

"And you're at the, um. You work at the..?"

Jon looks over as Martin struggles through his sentence, watching a dull flush creep along his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. He makes an incomprehensible gesture and trails off.

"Yes," Jon says, sparing him.

"R-right! Yeah, I um. Saw you through the window that one time. That must be, well. Hmm."

"...Yes," Jon says again.

There's a long silence.

"Well, time to get back," Martin says, bright and cheerful, making a show out of checking the time on his phone. Jon fights down his flash of disappointment.

"Of course," he says. He picks at his sandwich.

Martin gathers his belongings and pauses on his way back around the wall. "See… see you tomorrow?"

Jon refuses to call the expression on his face hopeful, even as his heart leaps into his throat at the implicit invitation. He nods mutely, hoping he doesn't look too eager.

The smile Martin gives him sits warm and easy on his lips, and something in Jon's chest catches at the sight of it.

"Righto," Martin says, and leaves Jon alone again and already impatient for tomorrow's break.

\--

Friday finally. Jon is in a strange mood. He's twitchy, can't seem to settle, dropping product and knocking into displays all morning. He knows why, he thinks as he skitters out the door when they finally send him on his break. It's difficult to relax into the monotony of retail when he's constantly checking out the window for his daily glimpse of Martin.

This isn't  _ normal _ for Jon, is the thing. He doesn't notice people, or get crushes, or  _ lose his mind over a boy _ . That doesn't stop him from rushing across the lot with an eagerness he'd be embarrassed by if he let himself stop to examine it. Doesn't stop the jittery buzz under his skin.

Martin is already looking his way as he turns the corner, his open face tipped up at him with a smile. "Jon," he greets pleasantly. Jon's nervous energy settles just the tiniest bit.

"Martin," Jon mutters, not waiting for an invitation this time, sinking to the ground a careful half foot closer than he'd sat the previous day. 

There's a short but not uncomfortable silence. It's remarkable really, Jon thinks, just how comfortable he feels. He isn't entirely sure what to do with that, so he starts unrolling his lunch bag; he hadn't woken up in time to make a lunch, had blearily grabbed something out of his fridge on his way out the door. There's a brief stab of anxiety as he tries to remember what he'd packed.

Martin lets out a soft snort when he sees the Lunchable in Jon's hands, but when Jon glances sharply at him he doesn't seem to be laughing at Jon's expense, seems more amused at himself. "I didn't even try to guess what you'd be eating today,'' he explains. "Your food choices are a mystery."

Jon shrugs, peels back the plastic. "It's easy."

"I guess. I haven't had one of those since I was a kid."

Jon doesn't have to explain further, doesn't have to explain anything, but he finds himself surprised by his willingness to share. "It's… fun, a bit. Putting together little cracker sandwiches."

He checks Martin's expression out of the corner of his eye, his shoulders rising defensively out of habit, but Martin only nods thoughtfully.

"Yeah, I get that," he says. "Like you're still making the food, sort of, even if it's prepackaged."

Jon nods and looks down. There's a bubble of warmth rising through his chest. "Right," he manages, then shoves a cracker in his mouth as he casts about for anything else to say.

Martin doesn't seem bothered by the halting conversation. He's picking idly at the label of his water bottle, gazing off into the trees lining the lot. There's a smudge of dirt curling over his jaw. Jon clenches his hands into fists so he doesn't do something stupid.

"Do you, uh - " Jon starts, hoping he'll come up with something quick. "Do you like landscaping?"

Martin looks surprised. "Oh, it's - sure!" he says. "I mean it's a little messy - " he picks at the Ieg of his dirt-encrusted trousers " - but I don't mind. Keeps me busy, keeps me moving. Might actually end up losing some weight - " He breaks off, flushing, looking firmly away from Jon.

Jon flounders. "That's... good. That you like it, I mean," he adds hastily as Martin looks at him sharply. "No, you don't need - you look - fine. Good. You look good."

Why can't he stop talking? he wonders. He's going to throw himself into traffic. Martin's looking at him with those startled, wide eyes, and Jon desperately eats another cracker. His cracker-to-topping ratio is going to be way off.

Martin lets the words hang in the air for a long moment before he says "Thanks?" in a small, cautious voice. 

Jon clears his throat. "Well. Quite.''

Martin wordlessly passes him the second water bottle, and Jon clutches at it, grateful for something to do with his hands.

"Do you like working at a sex shop?'' Martin asks in a conversational tone, right as Jon is taking a sip.

He doesn't choke, but only barely.

"Ah," he grimaces. He hates trying to explain his career choices to people. "It's really just like any other retail job."

"Really." Martin sounds politely disbelieving.

Jon shrugs. "Customers are stupid no matter where you go."

Martin considers this before nodding. "True."

There's a shrill ringing from Martin's phone and he jabs at the alarm in irritation. ''Break's over," he says, and is Jon imagining the trace of regret on his face? He glances at Jon as he scoops up his empty lunch containers. "It's Friday, so… see you Monday, I guess?"

Jon fights down his own stab of disappointment and opens his mouth to try to smile and tell Martin he'll certainly see him Monday. What comes out instead is: "Would you like to get coffee with me?"

Martin freezes. Jon freezes. Time itself stops.

And then a small, stunning smile lights up Martin's face, and Jon can breathe again. "Um. Yeah!" he says, his voice high. "Yeah, that sounds - really nice!"

Jon smiles back helplessly. They stare at each other for a long moment.

"Um," Martin says, "um. I do have to go back to work now…"

"Oh!" Jon nods. "Right, of-of course."

"Okay." Martin makes a flailing gesture over his shoulder. "I'm going to… do that. Go now."

"Right," Jon says again. The full scope of the situation is starting to sink in. Martin turns to leave, letting his eyes linger on Jon, and Jon scrambles to regather himself. "Wait, um." Martin spins back around immediately. "This afternoon? When are you off work?" He is incredibly pleased with how smoothly the words come out.

Martin also looks pleased. He ducks his head to swipe a hand through his messy hair. His shirt pulls up a little, exposing the smallest tantalizing glimpse of skin above the waistband of his jeans. Jon loses any progress he's made at pulling himself together.

"Four-thirty," Martin is saying as Jon wrenches his attention back up to his face. It's no less appealing; Martin is clearly trying to contain his beaming smile but it shines through anyway. 

"Four-thirty," Jon echoes. "I'm off at five. Is that...?"

"That's fine!" Martin hastens to assure him. "Yeah! Five!"

He turns to leave again, turns the motion into another smooth spin to smile one last time down at Jon. "I'm looking forward to it, Jon," he says, and his voice is so happy and gentle as it wraps around his name that Jon can only watch as he finally walks away through the parking lot, feeling an inexplicable tug from somewhere in his chest. He'd be quite happy to hear Martin say his name like that again soon, he thinks.

With trembling fingers, Jon sets aside his lunch, buries his face in his hands, and resolutely does not scream.

\--

Jon is absolutely staying calm about this.

The last few hours of his shift pass in a sort of haze as he cycles through every emotion he has, panic and embarrassment warring with the faintest glimmer of hope, leaving him confused and vaguely nauseous. By the time four-thirty ticks around, he's more or less convinced himself that Martin is likely to make his escape long before Jon even knows he's gone. 

That's...fine. It should be easy for them to avoid each other from here on out. Starting Monday, Jon will simply stop craning out the window for a stolen glimpse of Martin in the lot. He'll relinquish his lunch corner and hope Martin accepts it as the apology it is. He can handle his own hurt feelings, only wishes he hadn't made Martin too uncomfortable.

Oh  _ Christ _ . Jon freezes in the middle of the store as a horrible thought occurs to him, hand poised over the box of nipple clamps he's stocking. What if Martin  _ leaves _ ? What if he  _ quits _ ? What if Jon made things so weird that Martin gets in his awful Volvo and drives away forever and it's Jon's fault?

He is for sure staying quite calm, and level-headed. Relaxed, even.

By five, Jon is about to jitter out of his skin. He can only imagine what he looks like to the final customer he's ringing up - who buys a dildo at closing time on a Friday? he wonders - his pasted-on smile feeling more like a grimace. Finally,  _ finally  _ he shepherds the customer out the door and immediately forgets everything about them, because Martin is there.

Martin is  _ there _ , waiting outside, his wide-eyed expression at Jon's sudden appearance morphing into a small, nervous smile, and just like that something in Jon loosens, clearing his head and banishing his frantic energy to a small corner of his mind. He is still horribly anxious, of course, but he feels contained somehow, steadied. This is happening. Martin is  _ here. _

Martin is here and looks...good. He seems to have tried to clean himself up a little, though he's missed the smear of dirt on the edge of his jaw; his workboots are as dirt-encrusted as ever, but his hands look freshly scrubbed and his hair is slightly wet as though he'd recently run some water through it, a few curls drying haphazardly on his forehead. He's thrown a plaid button-down over his company shirt, and Jon allows his eyes to drift over his forearms where the sleeves are rolled up.

He dares to daydream for the briefest moment that perhaps Martin had wanted to look nice for him before wrenching his thoughts back into line.

"Martin," he says. His voice sounds steady enough, he notes with some relief, doesn't give away his racing heart.

Martin's eyes flick over him and his nervous smile eases, widening into something that settles better on his face. "Jon," he greets.

"I um," Jon says. "I have - a few more things to do before I can leave, shouldn't take more than five minutes, do you - want to wait inside?" He gestures lamely over his shoulder. "It's just, I have to lock the door."

Martin looks flustered by this for some reason. "S-sure," he stammers, fidgeting with his hands at his sides, drawing attention to the flash of yellow polish on his nails. "Is that...okay?''

Jon shrugs and stands back to let him in. "My boss doesn't really care," he explains, distracted by how close Martin brushes past him.

He flips over the  _ closed _ sign with the usual sense of relief and stretches up to reach the lock at the top of the doorframe, cursing under his breath as he grazes it with his fingertips.

"Oh here, I can - " is all he hears before Martin steps up close beside him and reaches his own hand past Jon's head and past his outstretched hand to fiddle with the lock. Martin is carefully not touching him, but he's close enough that Jon can feel the faintest suggestion of his breath on the back of his neck. Jon shivers pleasantly. It would be so easy to lean back just a fraction, to press his shoulder into Martin's broad chest and let himself be held for just a moment. He won't, of course, but it's a nice thought.

He turns his head just enough to trace his eyes along Martin's jaw to that stubborn streak of soil, imagining being the type of person who would boldly reach up and wipe it away. "Thanks," he says, and now his voice comes out strangely gravelly. He clears his throat.

"Sure.'' Martin blinks down at him for a long moment. They are standing very close. "Right."

Martin steps back after another moment, and the rest of the world comes rushing back.

"Okay." Jon lets out a slow breath. Work to do. "Okay. Um. Five minutes."

He leaves Martin by the door and starts putting minimal effort into his closing tasks, not caring if the glass cases are spotless or the racks of lingerie hang perfectly straight. He'll be back to fix any egregious errors Monday morning. He's aware of Martin's presence, but he's surprised to find that an observer doesn't make him self-conscious the way it normally would. He doesn't feel the need to perform, to put on airs, can simply do as he does without expectations.

He moves on to his final task - refilling the free condom bowl at the register - and rewards himself by glancing sidelong at Martin. He's - oh.

He's standing where Jon had abandoned him, his arms crossed and his shoulders rounded, his face tipped down to the floor, peeking around the store from behind his glasses like he can't help himself. A crimson glow stains his cheeks.

Right.

It's not that Jon ever  _ forgets _ where he works, precisely. He just...forgets it's weird for other people sometimes. He's never been more aware now, however, as Martin's eyes travel over a collection of fine leather crops before catching on a pyramid of novelty dildos that Jon had constructed this morning. He must make some sort of sound or movement, because suddenly Martin's gaze lands on him. Jon makes a small noise he'll deny later and promptly overturns the condom bowl.

Martin raises a single eyebrow.

"I'm fine," Jon mutters, his face hot. He scoops up fistfuls of condoms, glaring at the little foil packets as he shoves them back into the bowl.

A bit of the unacknowledged tension seems to leak out of the room then, to Jon's relief. Martin's shoulders are still tense, but he relaxes his tightly folded arms and his wary expression now has a hint of amusement as he watches Jon. Jon can't begrudge him his attention, he supposes, not after the way he's been spying recently. His gaze isn't unwelcome, doesn't feel demanding or scrutinizing; it's as though, even when surrounded by hundreds of outlandish fetish items, Jon is simply what Martin most wants to look at right now.

Jon finishes up in record time and then hesitates, not sure what to do now that he doesn't have work to hide behind. "Shall we?" he murmurs, tilting his head toward the back employee entrance with as much casual confidence as he can muster. It must work; Martin follows him silently through the back. 

He remains quiet as Jon leads them out to the employee parking, seemingly lost in thought, a faint frown creasing his brow.

Jon says the first thing that pops into his head. "I'm...sorry if you were - uncomfortable in there," he says haltingly. "I forget, sometimes. That people can find it weird."

"It's not  _ weird _ ," Martin says, then chuckles at Jon's pointed  _ hmm _ . "Okay, maybe a little weird,'' he admits. "But it's fine, no worries. You're in there every day, you're probably desensitized.

He's not wrong, but that isn't what Jon had meant exactly. "That too," he says slowly, not sure why he's explaining it further. He wants Martin to know this, to understand this. "I, uh. I often find myself forgetting the whole purpose of a store like that. The things we sell are just...things. The - intended outcome doesn't even occur to me.'' 

He glances sideways at Martin and twists his fingers together. That little crease between his eyebrows is back, though this time he's frowning in concentration, trying to figure it out. His eyes flash down to Jon's fidgeting hands, where the black ring on his middle finger sits prominently on display. Jon holds his breath, not daring to hope -

"Oh," Martin says. "Oh! You're..?"

Something jolts through Jon like he's missed a step on the stairs. No one's ever put the clues together before, even when Jon feels like he's screaming it out. "Asexual," he confirms, and his voice hardly even shakes.

Martin  _ beams _ at him, and the full force of his smile directed at Jon ignites something in his chest, something warm and tingly that spreads through his limbs. He feels lightheaded, like he's floating. "Thank you for telling me," Martin is saying, and Jon can only manage a nod.

They walk in silence for a few more yards before Martin bursts out, "And you work at a  _ sex shop _ ?" He hisses out the last words in an exaggerated scandalized hush. "Don't customers get, I don't know. Personal?''

Jon laughs, marvelling at how  _ easy _ it is with him. "Sometimes," he says. "But those ones always make for the best stories to tell later. Honestly, it's not bad, I can memorize statistics and speeds and sizes and work off that if I have to, no  _ experience _ required. Mostly I avoid any excess chatting with customers by being as ornery as possible." He grins. "Without getting a complaint, of course. Wouldn't do to lose my status as employee of the month."

Martin grins back, his whole face creasing up with it. "Incredible," he says, and his voice is immeasurably soft. 

Jon focuses very hard on not tripping over his feet. "Too bad my employee discount is wasted," he continues. "Although from the amount of money some of my coworkers spend on who knows what, you might say I'm getting off lightly."

He waits a beat, then two, then -

"Was that a  _ joke _ ?"

Jon sniffs, barely bothering to hide his delight at Martin's outrage. "I'm very funny," he says dryly.

No matter how this evening ends, Martin's unrestrained laughter is something Jon will replay in his mind for a very long time.

He veers over towards his car, tucked away in a secluded corner. He intends to drop his bag off, to be unencumbered before figuring out the nebulous concept of  _ coffee _ , but as they approach the vehicle Martin takes a deep breath.

"So I'm not really sure what this is," he says, scuffing at the pavement.

Jon frowns. "This?"

" _ This _ ." Martin tosses a hand between the two of them, his eyebrows flying up. "I mean, we've talked, what, twice? Barely, even. I just want to know what's... happening. Here." He sighs explosively and his hand falls still at his side.

"Oh! Um.'' Jon blinks, hoping his flush isn't as obvious as Martin's even as he relishes the pink tinge on Martin's face. "A-a date, I suppose. If you like.'' It feels good to say even if he does want to sink into the asphalt. 

"Right." Martin's tone is flat, and Jon is startled to see a suspicious, almost hard look on his face. It doesn't belong on his cheerful features, knocks Jon off balance. "Why."

What does he mean,  _ why _ ? "Ah," Jon stutters, agonized. "Because I. Hmm. Well, I-I like you."

"You don't even know me!" Martin bursts out, incredulous. 

"Oh, well I do, sort of, a-a bit," Jon admits. "I've uh, seen you around. I mean, I certainly don't  _ know _ you but I know enough to - " He cuts himself off and breathes deeply through his nose before dragging the right words out. "Look, Martin. You're very nice. And I like your smile. And I'd like to get to know you more." He forces himself to look up, hoping Martin will read the sincerity on his face even if the words sound pained. 

Martin's defensive frown softens into something shocked and sweet. "O-oh,'' he murmurs. A small, breathtaking smile steals over his lips. "Yeah. All right."

"All right?" Jon would be embarrassed by how soft his voice is if he weren't delighting in the way Martin flusters harder.

His smile grows as he nods until he can't contain a full grin. "Yeah."

Jon smiles back helplessly. 

Martin takes a deep breath, looks around. "So are we… driving somewhere?" he asks, and Jon realizes they've been standing at his car. 

"We can," he says. "Or, um. There's a little coffee place around the corner if you want to walk." 

Martin looks interested. "Where? I couldn't find a coffee shop nearby, I've been looking."

Jon hesitates. "Well, it's… not exactly a coffee  _ shop  _ exactly," he hedges. "But one of the garages on the next street over...has coffee."

"I'm pretty sure all those garages are abandoned, Jon."

"Well  _ someone _ comes by to replace the coffee, and the machine's never broken. I'm sure it's fine."

" _ Replace _ the coff- Jon." His voice is firm, but when Jon peeks up at him there's a hint of amused fondness on his face. "Jon, do you get your coffee from a vending machine in an abandoned garage?"

Jon plays up his indignation, sticks his chin out haughtily. "Well. Yes. If you must know."

Martin dissolves into peals of disbelieving laughter. "Jon, no! How has no one murdered you yet? Are you a ghost?"

He steps in close to nudge his shoulder against Jon's. The flash of warmth from the brief contact radiates down Jon's arm. "Not that I know of," he manages. 

"Well I'll just have to bring you your coffee from now on," Martin says, and it's so smooth that Jon can only stare at him. To his credit, Martin is immediately flustered. "I-I mean. So you don't, you know. Die in some weird garage."

"That would be unfortunate," Jon nods, pressing his lips together. "If you're taking requests, tea? The coffee is just...convenient."

"I'll make you tea," Martin promises, Iow and sweet. Then he claps his hands together decisively. "Okay. It's, what, five-fifteen? How about we skip the caffeine and, um. We could grab dinner instead?"

"That sounds nice," Jon says, and Martin beams at him and starts rattling off a list of nearish restaurants. Jon only half-listens, his attention caught by the streak of dirt still clinging to Martin's chin, right in Jon's eyeline as Martin animatedly rambles on. He inhales. He  _ could _ . He exhales. He  _ shouldn't _ . He breathes in again and then reaches forward, slow but certain.

Martin cuts himself off with a small gasp as Jon swipes the pad of his thumb over the smudge on Martin's jaw. 

He almost expects the heat of his skin and the gentle scrape of his stubble to leave an imprint on his thumb when he pulls his hand back, but it remains unmarked. He frowns at the stubborn smudge. "Sorry," he starts to explain, but Martin shakes his head with a jerk. 

"No, no, I - thought you were going to - " He gazes intently at Jon, the pink tint to his cheeks flaring to a bright red. "Um. Can I - ?"

Can he what, Jon wonders, and then oh - Martin is stepping even closer into his space and raising his own hand to rest his fingers under his jaw, tipping his face up, and then he's leaning down the short distance and -

The kiss Iands on Jon's cheek, a warm imprint of Martin's lips on his skin, and as he pulls away Jon instinctively turns his head to chase that warmth and then Martin's mouth is on his, just a short press of lips to lips. Jon barely has time to close his eyes, to register the heat of Martin's body so close to his and his fingertips trembling on Jon's jaw and his shaky breathing, before Martin stands up straight, blushing furiously. "Oh," he says.

Jon clears his throat. His lips tingle. "Hmm,'' he manages. "That was. Well."

"Well,'' Martin echoes, and he laughs, bright and uninhibited. "Okay. Dinner now?"

Jon nods, dazed. He doesn't move.

"Do you want to drive since we're at your car already?" Martin asks, then chuckles. " _ Can _ you drive right now? You look a little. Distracted."

"Hmph," Jon says half-heartedly, not bothering to even pretend to glare. "Get in."

He takes a moment to collect himself, following Martin around the car with his eyes, and allows himself to feel the full force of the incandescent fluttering joy rising in his chest. He smiles to himself, touches his lips with careful fingers, and opens the door.

**Author's Note:**

> How big is this parking lot? As big as it needs to be. Also, if you were curious the coffee vending machine in a garage around the corner from Four Seasons Total Landscaping is very real, according to google maps. Thanks for reading!


End file.
